Whiskey Addled Thoughts
by a mountain of gideon's scones
Summary: When combatting boredom one day, Myrnin finds a bottle of 300 odd year old whiskey. What happens when he drinks it and turns up at the Glass House? Please r&r!


** This story may seem similar toFlying Penguinz but it was not intentional & I didn't copy her idea! Promised Tipsy14 I'd write this oneshot a while ago, so here it is!**

**Had this idea for ages now... Firstly I'd like to say that Myrnin is not high or anything... Just drunk!**

_I don't own anything!_

Myrnin decides that life is _boring _at the minute. Everyone seems happy, Amelie hasn't decided to kill Oliver yet, and nobody has tried to destroy Morganville (he counts himself in this one) in at _least _two months.

So what can he do to liven things up? He roots through the cupboards and comes up with a bottle of whiskey he bought back in Scotland (the capital of the world for whiskey... Especially Glennmorangie) _way _back in the past. Smacking his lips, he takes the bottle through to his lab and comes up with a beaker into which he can pour his tipple.

Pouring a rather generous measure, which reaches the rim of the measuring beaker, he lifts it up and tilts it into his mouth. _Mmmmm_, he thinks, as the thin liquid runs down his throat and into his gut.

After swallowing this measure, he decides that this bottle of whiskey deserves to be drunk; after all, it has sat in a cupboard for decades and even survived a journey across the Atlantic Ocean to America from England - it's about time it was enjoyed by someone!

In the back of his mind, Myrnin remembers that he _had _agreed to share this whiskey with both Oliver and Amelie, as they had all pooled their last pennies (this was their luxury bought in one of their times of dire poverty) together to buy it. _Who cares? They should have been here! _He argues to himself as he downs another generous measure in one... Maybe he should slow down? But where's the fun in that?

Three more beakerfuls later, he's beginning to feel a little tipsy. Somewhere in the back of his mind, along with the thing that reminded him of the pact he made with the other two vampires when he agreed to look after the alcohol, he gets the feeling that he should go to the Glass House. Although he doesn't _quite _know why, he decides to follow this gut instinct of his and stands up.

Swinging the whiskey bottle haphazardly, so the contents nearly spill out, he swaggers over to the portal in the corner and walks through it. He reappears in a normal looking living room, filled with three human children and one baby vampire. A tear springs to his eye as Myrnin looks around at the inhabitants: Eve, with her Goth makeup, Michael, a young vampire with angelic looks (what an ironic contrast!), Shane, the lazy layabout who Myrnin had _never _liked, and Claire... The assistant of his that had questioned his assertation of being 'cool'.

"Myrnin, what are you doing here?" Claire asks, turning around to face her boss as she hears him crashing into something. He manages to right himself before he fully falls flat on his face (what would that have meant for his whiskey?) but the same cannot be said for the table he fell into.

"I came... To tell you... That I _am _cool!" he slurs, rolling the bottle of whiskey around in his fingers to try and prove the point.

"How much have you had to drink?" she asks him suspiciously, her narrowed eyes focusing in on the nearly empty bottle.

"N-Not much!" he replies before dancing into the middle of the little circle of friends. The middle is nice, it's _good_; you're always included if you're there! "Just a little tipple of Scotland's finest whiskey from the 18th century; you should try some!"

Claire rolls her eyes at her friends, whilst Michael, being the macho man he is, stands up to try and deal with Myrnin. He moves slowly and hesitantly towards him before deftly darting his hand out to grab the whiskey bottle from Myrnin's outstretched fingers.

"NOOOOOOO!" the drunken fool yells, dropping to his knees in pain and suffering for his lost drink. "You, angel, give it back! I _am _cool; I am cooler than you all are... That's _my _whiskey, that's what makes me cool! If you have it then you become cool and then the cool club loses it's integrity and exclusivity!" he rambles on, Eve and Shane barely managing to supress their laughter at the mention of the 'cool club'.

"I-is Amelie a member?" Shane snorts before being unable to keep himself from laughing. Eve joins in, as does Claire, and soon even Michael is barely holding onto the edge.

That's when Myrnin lunges forwards. Taking Michael by surprise, he grabs the bottle from the middle of it's arching back and forth, spilling onto Myrnin's clothing with the sudden momentum gained.

With the loss of his favourite drink, Myrnin begins to sob, little tears forming in the corners of his eyes. "That's _my _drink! It was the cool drink and the idiot spilled it all over me. It's not fair!" he wails, collapsing onto the floor and leaning against the sofa. The Glass House residents all continue their raucous laughing bout, which upsets Myrnin even more.

_Do they not think I'm cool?_

"You think I'm cool, don't you Claire?" Myrnin asks the young girl desperately, trying to cling onto his reputation of being loved more than Oliver. She manages to stop laughing long enough to nod, move over to him, touch him on the shoulder in a soothing motion and say:

"Of _course _I think you're cool, Myrnin!"

He beams in delight: why was he worrying, thinking that people didn't think he was cool?

With this final thought, the few hundred year old malt whiskey kicks into his brain and knocks him into a thick, deep heavy stupor... But unfortunately doesn't stop him snoring!

Eve, Michael, Shane and Claire all exchange glances before bursting into yet more laughter. Mr Cool is _certainly _in the house!


End file.
